


The Best Sense of Timing

by literalhedgehog



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Blood Loss, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalhedgehog/pseuds/literalhedgehog
Summary: When Crowley missed a lunchtime meet-up, Aziraphale is sure that he has left Rome. But when Aziraphale runs into a spot of trouble with a robber a few days later, Crowley shows off his talent for well-timed entrances.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	The Best Sense of Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Set after one of the flashback sequences of the show. Written so that it could be canon if you wanted it to. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> (Tagged with blood loss because Aziraphale lost enough to get dizzy and I didn't want anyone to be unpleasantly surprised even if it isn't described)

Aziraphale sat down expectantly at one of the tables and ordered the local wine while he waited. It had only been a few weeks since he and Crowley had encountered each other again. What an amazing coincidence that they both had work in the same place this week! That hadn’t happened in over a century. He, of course, was rather looking forward to hearing about all that Crowley had been up to over the last century. They had meant to talk last week of course, but then the food arrived so promptly, and as they were finishing a messenger arrived requesting Aziraphale’s presence at the Library. (He decided to become a patron of it, he thought it was just wonderful that they were working to spread knowledge from around the world, even if mainly to the upper classes). Before he left he and Crowley had agreed to meet up again, at least one more time before either had to leave the city. Aziraphale knew a lovely place for drinks down the road, and they agreed that at noon on Friday they both could meet and discuss the happenings of the last millennia.

His wine arrived at his table as he was glancing up at the sun again. They hadn’t settled on a specific time to meet of course, just planned to eat a light repast for a mid-day meal. Aziraphale hated to be late, so he had arrived as the sun rose high in the sky. “there’s no reason to be concerned” he told himself, sipping the wine as he turned intentionally away from the sky. “He is likely very busy. Slithering about causing mischief somewhere no doubt.”

. . .

His glass was almost empty when he checked the sun for a fourth time. So consumed in looking up – surely two hours hadn’t passed already – that he initially didn’t notice the child approach and stand next to the table.

“Judge Aziraphale?”

He straightened, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“ I’ve got sent with a message for you. Mr. Crowley says sorry, a things came up and he can’t come today.”

He couldn’t come. Aziraphale told himself that the feeling in his stomach was just for want of food, he was just fine eating alone. It was no matter, really. He had looked forward to hearing stories about other parts of the world, but that was all. It was the stories, not the teller that was important. Eating lunch with Crowley was no different than eating with anyone else, Gab—well perhaps not Gabriel, but he was sure given enough time he could think of several beings he would equally enjoy eating lunch with. Five, at least.

“Well, that’s perfectly all right. Lunch between two good friends can happen any day of the week can’t it?” He smiled at the boy, trying to give off the air of nonchalance and paternal affection – children liked that, didn’t they? “It was so very good of you to carry that message for us! Did Mr. Crowley make sure you were paid for your time?”

“O’Course!” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, the child looked offended. “ Mr. Crowley isn’t the kind who expects you to kiss his sandals for none but the blessings of the gods.”

“How silly of me, I should have expected it.” Crowley always did have an affection for children, though it would take more effort than it was worth to get him to admit it. He had a way with them that Aziraphale never quite managed. He was never quite sure how to talk with them, logical conversations never quite held their interest and he was terrible at their small talk. He had tried saying the things he usually heard from adults – you have grown so tall, what an interesting toy you have, and the like – but he assumed his statements must lack some genuinely because no child ever seemed to like him. It might have hurt his pride, but Aziraphale had long decided that he could serve the great plan just fine by solely interacting with adults. “Is that all you needed from me?”

“Yessir” Aziraphale finished his wine as the child left. He still had some time left in the afternoon to fit in a good work or two. Perhaps he could even get some food on the way. There was this vendor near the forum that always had the most lovely tarts…

. . .

It wasn’t quite two days later when Aziraphale had a bit of an incident with a robber. It was a rather minor event really – the man was looking for some money, and he cut Aziraphale with his knife before he realized that it was unnecessary. He did apologize after the two had a nice heart to heart about his long-forgotten dream to become an artist, but Aziraphale turned down his offer to fetch a healer. He had little confidence in the healers on this side of the city, and truth be told he was fairly confident that for a small injury like this his body would heal faster than could be easily explained. No, far better to return to his home and rest. That was all he needed. For now, he could do well enough just wrapping the area tightly with a cloth and walking home.

It was a few blocks later when he started to feel a little odd. His eyesight did the strangest thing where little golden dots crept in from the outside of his vision, and he started feeling dizzy.

“It must be the blood loss,” he told himself, leaning against a cart and ordering himself a drink, any drink they could get quickly. “Or perhaps some shock. Nothing a little water can’t solve until I can make it home. I’ll just have to breathe more deeply until then.” He took a sip of whatever they handed him, barely tasting it as he realized his hand was shaking slightly. “It’s only a twenty-minute walk.”

He began again, walking up the hill towards his housing. He watched the ground as he walked, following the lines left behind by the carts. It wasn’t far. He could walk home, there was no need to stop.

As he was entering the temple district his vision began to cloud again, this time accompanied by a ringing in his ears. He found one of the pillars of the nearby temple and sat down, leaning against it for support. It was the sort of place normally occupied by the pour and injured, who had to live off the generosity of others. Luckily no one was at this particular pillar today, so he would just sit until his sight had returned to normal. Nothing to it.

When Aziraphale stood up a few moments later, he realized very quickly that this blood loss might be a bigger problem than he had anticipated. He was beginning to feel faint when he heard a familiar voice a few steps later.

“For a minute there, Angel, I thought you were planning to become a beggar.”

It was at that moment that the gold sparks had begun to close over Aziraphale’s eyes again, and he knew rather than saw himself reach out and grab Crowley’s arm for support. Or perhaps he grabbed his hand. He wasn’t quite sure. He thought he heard himself saying something like “Hello. I am currently trying to avoid fainting. Just a bit of blood loss, you know.” But at that moment his ears were ringing and his memory was hazy until the point where his vision and hearing cleared slightly to find his hand gripped in Crowley’s, arm resting on his, and Crowley saying “I think there should be somewhere to lie down in here.”

“Excuse me, my friend here’s taken a bit ill, you wouldn’t mind if he used one of your couches to lie down for a bit?”

“Yes of course.” A fluttery female voice answered. “Right over here. What do you think is wrong? We have a healer on-site, though not nearly as fine as I’m sure refined gentlemen such as yourselves are used to.”

“That would be lovely” Crowley answered, just as Aziraphale found the voice to say “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“What?” Crowley looked down at him, shock on his face. “Angel, you said you were about to faint from blood loss.”

“From mild blood loss.” Aziraphale sat on the sofa and leaned back, suddenly feeling the need to have his head back. “ I was lightly stabbed-“

“-STABBED-”

“-LIGHTLY stabbed. It was a slight misunderstanding, but it’s all right now. The gentleman realized that his skills are much more suited for the painting of statues – if it's not refreshed it fades to the white of the marble you know – and I thought I would feel perfectly better with a little bit of rest.” He opened his eyes to find Crowley staring at him. The demon seemed at a loss for words, almost frustrated as he stared at Aziraphale.

“Right, you’re seeing our healer,” the female voice said. Aziraphale turned to see the speaker clearly for the first time. She had long brown hair left loose and flowing over her shoulders, which somewhat covered what her sheer dress was clearly not designed to. “Don’t worry though,” she said, as another woman smelling faintly of herbs carried a small bag from the adjoining room and sat down on a cushion next to the sofa, “sewing cuts is one of her specialties.”

“Oh, how lucky you are to have a medical professional on your own premises! Is that common around here?”

“One of us had to learn,” the girl he supposed was the healer said, as she leaned over him, pulling his robe around so she could see the wound. Her hair, unlike that of her compatriot’s, was bound, and she barely glanced at his face as she sat up to stick a knife near the fireplace and thread a needle. “Girls need babes delivered, or a customer gets violent when he doesn’t feel satisfied with his service.” She turned to see the shock on his face and smiled. A thin thing, slight enough that with very little effort it could be turned into a scowl. “ Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it pays to have someone with even basic midwifing skills around. For anything complicated, we run for my teacher. Now this will hurt, so I’ll thank you not to cut my hand off.”

“All right.” Aziraphale had no intention of cutting her hand off, deciding just to ignore what she was doing. If he didn’t think about it, all he felt was a light tugging sensation. He opted to scan the room, now that his eyesight had recovered and his head felt light enough again to notice his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that Crowley, who was now standing staring into the fire, had draped his cloak over Aziraphale’s legs. Then he saw that though the sitting-room he was currently in was empty, he was being watched by numerous women, who were peering through the entrance of what looked to be a hallway. A few were wearing thin silk similar to the woman who had ushered them in, while others appeared to be wearing bright togas, or less. Aziraphale looked away quickly. “I do hope I didn’t disrupt anything. I would hate to be a bother.”

“It's fine,” a new voice came from the doorway, “we hardly have business at this time of day. In a couple hours though, you should probably be gone. I doubt you’ll have the stamina to keep up with our usual crowd.”

Aziraphale smiled briefly but otherwise chose to ignore the snickers that came with that comment, and those from other women following it. He instead looked at the woman sitting in front of him, who had now taken her knife back from in front of the fire and was using it to cut and singe the ends of her thread. “Is that it then?”

“Just about.” She sat back and adjusted her toga, then began to repack her bag with the thread and needle, and other herb mixtures he hadn’t noticed her smear around the area. “You were lucky. It was only a small wound, and it had slowed bleeding enough that I could sew it up instead of cauterizing it.” He heard noises from the other girls then, sounds of disgust, and comments like “the smell takes forever to leave.” Crowley looked over at them, and they quickly grew silent.

“May I leave then?”

“I think you should lay there for a few more minutes, and hire a cart to carry you home, if you can afford it. I would definitely avoid going on any stairs for a while at least.” She stood up, and Crowley crossed the room to shake hands with her. He thought he might have seen the glimmer of coin pass between them. She turned to look at him once more before leaving the room, “I do hope you feel better soon.”

Crowley came and sat down by his feet. He had gotten a cup of wine somewhere and was sipping it slowly as he stared at the fire. Aziraphale cleared his throat, “so any interesting assignments lately?”

Crowley turned to look at him. “Really, Angel? That’s what you want to talk about? Not the fact that you were, as you said, ‘lightly stabbed’?”

“Not particularly.” They were silent for a few minutes. “I was just curious about what came up the other day. I haven’t seen any major catastrophes around, so I thought you might have left the city.”

“Oh, that. No, it was nothing really. Just some demon drama. Nothing major, just some reports to sort out and all.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale went silent for a minute, looking at the demon’s profile. “Crowley, I-“

“There’s a cart here for you” a young boy ran in the door. He had to be 8 or 9, though Aziraphale reminded himself that he really had no idea how children aged. He had the nose of the first woman they had met. “He said he could take you anywhere you needed to go.”

“Oh. All right. Thank you very much.” With Crowley’s help, he stood up and made his way towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley flip the child a coin. Slithering softie.

Crowley helped him onto the cart and stood back. “Well, I’ll see you around Angel.”

“Oh, er, yes. Goodbye, Crowley. He gave the driver his address, then watched Crowley turn and disappear down a side street.

. . .

The next time they saw each other, a few months or millennia later, Crowley said that it was “good to see you well.” But that was all the mention they ever made of it. Aziraphale supposed that, to Crowley, it wasn’t anything to fuss over. Just an incident in their acquaintanceship, nothing more. And if it didn’t mean anything to him, then Aziraphale surely wasn’t going to bring it up. The fact that, in what might have been the most helpless moment of his existence, he felt instantly safe once he heard Crowley’s voice was irrelevant. Nor was the fact that he didn’t remember grabbing Crowley’s hand, they just naturally connected. Nothing worth fretting over, so he wasn’t going to mention it. Thanking him would only embarrass the demon.

And so, neither of them ever mentioned it again. Aziraphale certainly never thought about the feeling of Crowley’s hand when they were sitting next to each other on park benches feeding ducks. And why would Crowley ever feel the need to tense up when he saw Aziraphale within 100 meters of a sharp, malicious blade? That would be ridiculous, beyond suggestion. This incident meant nothing to either of them, so neither would ever admit thinking about it briefly every time they saw each other for the next few thousand years.


End file.
